


The Lighthouse

by Raven_Tio



Series: Dialogues and Confessions - Johnlock pieces and bits from my head [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Memories, NO DEATH, POV John Watson, Sentimental Sherlock, Thrill, Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Tio/pseuds/Raven_Tio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John sits by the fire place in the flat one evening, when a strange case came back to his memory.<br/>A case that is still very nebulous to him. The only thing that is quite clear in that case is, against all sayings, that there is a heart beating in Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Memory strikes

**Author's Note:**

> I am not entirely sure, how long this story will be. But somehow I look forward to it.  
> Even though it's strange for me to recall something trough John Watsons eyes. I was always afraid to do so… but I will try my very best.

Sometimes memory takes strange ways.  
I had just visited an old friend at his place this day and was now leaning back in my own chair. A glass of brandy in my hand and a blazing fire in the fire pit before me. I was in a rather cheerful mood, which is why I was so startled by the sudden turn in my own thoughts.  
There was this case in the early days of our adventures. It is one of the few cases I can not entirely recall and I don't have notes of it. At the time, the matter was rather delicate, since some very important people were involved. One of them happened to be Mycroft Holmes himself. It was quite difficult for me to see my friend suffer under the condition of his brother.

Well, I say friend. There was and is so much more between us. Back in those days I denied what was at hand. And I think Sherlock did so as well. With all his deduction skills he knew about my feelings before I did. Clearly. Lucky me we managed to sort it out.  
But that is another story.

It had been a rainy day but one worth the wait. The sunset that broke through the clouds, spread its warm light over the city. Old and new buildings were struck by red and orange and even the darkest window was glowing like it was covered in gold.  
I was walking from the clinic back to Baker street. The air was cold and clean. After the hot summer that was exactly what I needed. There were less days like that in the autumn that lay before us. Looking back I should have embraced this sunset way more. The darkness that followed was the kind of darkness that gets into you and makes you shiver from the inside.

When I entered 221b that night it was as silent as it could get. No sound came from the flat upstairs and Mrs. Hudson made no sound as well. I did not care too much and climbed the stairs, leaving out the one step that squeaked.  
I found my flatmate as usual. Seated by the cold fireplace in his leather chair. His hands were folded under his chin and his eyes were closed. I stood in the door a couple of minutes and watched his features in the dim light of a single lamp.  
"JOHN!", he cried all of a sudden when I was about to leave and I jumped a few feet backwards.  
"Yes?"  
I looked at him with curious eyes but after a short blink he fell back into thoughts. Even though it seemed that he did not call me, but came to some sort of conclusion containing my name, I approached him and seated myself in the opposite chair. I had no idea what was going on, but his expression was clearly an interesting one.  
"Are you alright, Sherlock?", I asked, keeping my voice rather low. It took some minutes before he looked up at me.  
"Hm? Oh… yeah. All fine. You are back? Nice… where have you been?"  
"At work. As usual. Are you sure you are alright? Did something happen?"  
His eyes were fixed on me now. At least that was what I thought. But again he did not listen to me.  
I was sort of worried now. Leaning forward I took a closer look. His skin was pale as ever, His lips in a healthy shade of red. But something about his eyes was wrong. They were still as blue as the sky with some sprinkles of sunlight, but not as bright as they should be. Never before had I seen a shadow like this on his face. Something did happen, but I did not dare to ask a second time.

There was no need to anyway.  
Only seconds after I leaned forward, someone almost fell through the door. I had overheard the door and the fast steps on the staircase but my friend did not. He looked up almost pleased. My own face must have been one of shock, since our guest gave me an apologizing look. I leaned back and my eyes went from Sherlock towards our guest and back again.  
"I am so sorry. I know I am late. But Mr. Holmes you were right. It seems you have been right all along."  
A pleased smile found its way onto the slim lips.  
"It is terrible. I… oh dear. Mr Holmes it was too late. Even though we knew. We could do nothing."  
Our guest almost fainted. I jumped to my feet and slowly seated him into my chair. He was a tall man, the one you see in the gym at least four days a week. His face and hands were slightly tanned and I suppose the rest of his body was as well. Still there was something in his face that made him look like a ghost. His clear green eyes flew through the room restless, searching for something. I looked back at my friend after I found myself on one of our chairs. Sherlocks smile had disappeared and anger had found a way on his face.  
"What is going on?", I asked looking from one to another again. But our guest only shook his head. He was exhausted and probably in shock as well. His hands were shaking now as he tried to straighten his shirt.  
The detective on my right was biting his lip, his gaze fixed on the floor before him. Silence swallowed the whole room and a strange feeling started to crawl up my back.  
"Treason, John. High treason.", Sherlock finally answered my question. He looked at me with an indifferent look in his eyes and I felt another shiver going down my spine. I have never seen him like this before and if I think about it, never again since.

That is all I remember from that strange visit. Our guest had a tea with us in silence and left as soon as he had found back his strength. Sherlock didn't explain anything to me that day. I thought maybe he couldn't understand it as well. It later turned out that he just tried to protect me. Either way, I should have known by then, that this matter was a very dangerous one.


	2. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of days after the strange visitor another message arrives.

I can't exactly recall the time that passed after that strange visitor. I knew he was not a client. Just some sort of messenger, nonetheless important. And even though I did not understand the message back then, I did see how much it troubled my friend. Unfortunately that was just the beginning. 

I was home for a couple of minutes only, storing away some food I had bought for the weekend, when the phone rang once. I could not reach it in time, neither could Sherlock. Well, he didn't try anyway. While I was looking at the device in curiosity he didn't even look up from his microscope.   
I stared a little longer, a bottle of milk in my hand.  
"It won't ring because you stare.", his deep voice reached me and I felt a shiver running down my spine. I placed the milk on the table and walked over to our phone, to pick it up.  
"It's dead.", I said very surprised.   
No reaction from Sherlock. The phone was silent even after I put the receiver down a couple of times.  
"Why is it dead?", I mumbled to myself and jumped aside, when Sherlock stood next to me all of a sudden.  
"Why indeed John.", he whispered and run down the stairs. When I was about to follow I heard the dim buzz of a mobile phone.   
"Sherl-"  
My friend was already out of reach so I picked up his phone. At one point I do regret it, for the horror that came to my ears haunted me for a very long time. But sometimes the slow ones are the lucky ones. If it wouldn't have been for me not being able to keep up with Sherlocks speed, we would have missed this call.  
" _Don't believe what they tell you. They are lying. The radar is a fake. Only trust your eyes and follow the light._ "

The connection broke up, before I could say a word. The only thing I could do, was to write down what I had just heard. My hands were shaking and my mind was repeating the words over and over again.   
This voice. I had heard it lots of times. But never before in a weak tone like that.   
"Sherlock…", I heard myself whisper before I ran down the stairs to follow my friend.  
"SHERLOCK!"  
But when I stood behind him, I couldn't manage to speak. He was bending over a small box down where all the fuses for our electricity were. His thin fingers almost touching one of the cables.  
"Well look at that, someone cut the wire.", he said with a low voice and straightened himself again. With sharp eyes he looked around.   
"Don't move, John."  
I didn't.   
I couldn't if I wanted to. I was in shock. Someone had cut the wire to prevent this message to reach us. But he was not fast enough to block the signal on our mobile phones.  
"Got in and out through the window. Of course. To easy, but why?"  
"Sherlock-"  
"Why cut the wire first? There are so many…"  
"Sherlock!"  
"Shut up, John. I trie to think."

And there he was rushing upstairs again without another look, leaving me in the dark. The words came back to me in an instant and my feet felt as heavy as rocks. I might have stood there in the dark for at least half an hour before I found back to myself and followed.   
Sherlock was pacing up and down from kitchen to living room. There was no chance to talk to him, so I just placed the piece of paper under his phone and sat back in my chair, following my own thoughts. Without all the data behind that case I could make nothing out of those strange events. I didn't even connect our visitor from days ago with this call.  
"What's that?", Sherlock asked in a harsh voice waking me from the nap I had fallen in.   
"Uhm… what…"  
"Wake up John! What is that?"  
He waved the paper in front of my face and I sat upright in an instant. My back gave a nasty crack and I let out a small moan of pain. His eyes were fixed on me and there was a lot of impatience in them that could quickly change into anger. I tried to clear my throat, but it was like cold fingers were put around my neck, squeezing out my breath and keeping me from catching fresh air.  
"What. John.", he repeated slowly but with every emphasis.   
"A message. From earlier. When you rushed downstairs.", I stared to explain with a dry throat.  
"From whom?", he asked quickly even though I could see in his eyes that he knew the answer. But he feared it. As much as I did.  
"Mycroft."

Sherlock stood in front of me, both hands on the armrest of my chair. I did not need to say anything else. There was no need to tell him how weak his brother voice had been or how frightened he sounded. From the look in Sherlocks eyes I could tell that he knew. And not just that. He knew way more than I did and for him it started to connect.   
But no matter how strong and fast his mind was, his body couldn't keep up. It was betraying him and he sunk into my arms. His face as pale as it could get, his eyes filling with tears. I felt a crack in my heart by the sight of that. I knew I could do nothing to help him, but close my arms around him.  
One does not need to be Sherlock Holmes to know, that his brother was in great danger, maybe even dying. And somehow it was nice to know that even the most obnoxious sociopath does care about his brother. But if it was for me, I could have done without knowing that, instead of seeing my dear friend like that.


	3. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter, only a few words. And a very worried Sherlock, who tries to find some distraction in ordinary kitchen work.

There was no call from any hospital, nor did Mycroft answer his phone. It was like he had vanished after that call. For all his weirdness and arrogant way with people I was nevertheless worried. Sherlock seemed to be back to normal on the other hand. Only a few hours after we received the message, he acted as if nothing had happened. Which is why I was so confused at this time.   
I didn't write stuff down or tell anybody. I just went to bed that day. And the day after. On the third day I kinda slept in. It must have been after lunchtime already when I finally made my way downstairs to the kitchen. I had my eyes not completely open yet and opened the fridge. Right next to a bag of toes I found some milk and turned around with a pleased smile. Just to drop the bottle on the floor.  
"What the hell Sherlock! What are you doing."  
"Oh John, good, pass me the milk please."  
"I can't, I just dropped it."  
"Shame… well, water will do as well I suppose…"  
"What is that?"  
"Dough?"  
"But what for?"  
"Well, bread, John. What else?"  
There he stood almost completely covered in flour. And it was not just him. The floor, the table, even the walls showed traces of the white powder.   
"Bread? Ordinary bread?", I asked and approached him very carefully. This might as well have been a very strange dream. The famous detective standing in the kitchen, doing actual kitchen work. Sort of.  
"Yes, John. Ordinary bread. Whats wrong with that? Can't I just do ordinary stuff?"  
"No."  
My answer was not the best one. Next thing I remember I tried to dodge a pot. And failed. When I woke up again, Sherlock had placed me on the small sofa in the living room. He sat at the hight of my head on the floor and was staring towards the kitchen. When my hand reached for the bump on my head, my whole body was aching and I heard myself moaning in pain.  
"Sorry, John."  
"It's alright. I went through worse.", I mumbled and turned my head a bit. Just in time to catch his look. The helpless eyes of a child. Without further thinking I reached out for his head and let my hand slide through his hair.  
"You will find him. I know you will.", I whispered in an attempt to comfort my friend. I might have succeeded if it wasn't for the sudden interruption of a scream.  
"MR HUDSON!", we both yelled at once and jumped to our feet to run downstairs.   
The horror was climbing up my spine even faster than we could make it down. I had not time do grab my gun nor any other weapon. But I didn't care. And it seemed that Sherlock was as ready as I was to fight for our landlady.  
Good thing, we didn't need to.  
Catching our breath we were standing in her doorway with her waving at us. A tiny paper between her fingers.  
"Oh boys look at that. I won!", she said very happy and let out another cry of joy.  
Sherlock looked at me with a mixture of annoyance and relieve and I am certain I returned that same look.  
"Oh, I almost forgot… this arrived for you Sherlock. Just a few minutes ago."  
And with those words she turned around and disappeared in her kitchen with us following. Mrs Hudson snatched a big envelope from her table and handed it to Sherlock. As far as I could see when Sherlock turned it in the light, there was no name and no seal on it. He opened it very carefully and pulled out one piece of paper with a rather short message on it.  
I had no chance to take a glimpse and watched Sherlocks face instead. But it did not change a lot. Still I was very sure, that there was a shadow creeping into his eyes. And it became darker with every word. With a sudden rush he turned around and grabbed Hrs. Hudson by her arms.  
"Who did the delivery?", he asked and I could hear by the tone of his voice that he had rather a lot of trouble keeping it down.  
"Well, there was this guy… regular uniform, I think…", she started looking a bit confused.  
"You think? You need to know!"  
"Why? What. Sherlock did something happen."  
He let go of her with a frown.  
"Oh, why can't people think properly… those ordinary brains are killing me.", he complained and made me and Mrs. Hudson gasp for air.  
"Sherlock, really…", she mumbled and looked at him with a mixture of confusion and anger. I must have had the same look on my face. Because, the moment Sherlock turned towards me for help,his blue eyes turned even more angry.  
He rushed out of the flat without another word. I didn't even try to follow. If I had learned something, than whether it was a good time to follow my flatmate and have him as company or not, as well as at what time it was best to just leave him be.   
Well. At that point I was a little mistaken. If I had just been a little more confident about myself and the help I could provide, things could have gone in a different, less harmful way. But as usually, I had no clue about the ongoing case.


	4. The Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been a while, but there was quite a lack of inspiration, if I have to be honest.  
> But recent events brought me back to the lighthouse and I am willing to follow my red line.  
> For now I leave this short chapter here for you.  
> enjoy reading.

"How do I look?"  
"Ridiculous."  
I gave a low sight.   
"No really, Sherlock."  
My friend looked up from his notes, his eyes full of reproach.   
"Well, speaking from your clothes, that are rather badly ironed, you don't care too much about the woman. Then again the state of your shoes says you are up to sex, clearly. But regarding the deep lines under your eyes-"  
"Sherlock!"  
"John?"  
"Oh, forget it.", I hissed and checked my face in the mirror. The last couple of sleepless nights were indeed written down on my face in deep lines. One did not need to be Sherlock Holmes to see that.  
"If you are lucky, she shares your intention."  
"Stop it, okay? I know its not the best time for a date, but I can't stop living because this heartless bas-… your brother decided to play hide and seek.", I snarled at Sherlock, who bit his lip and looked down onto his notes again.  
"Of course you can't.", he said in a bitter voice.   
But I was already too angry to regret my words. I turned on my heel and threw a "good night" over my shoulder before I left the flat. What made me that angry was of course, that Sherlock was right. I did not care about the date. It was mere a distraction for me. The poor attempt to, just for one night, not think about what might have happened to Mycroft Holmes.   
And most of all, I was very tired of seeing my dear friend Sherlock suffer under his sorrow. Even if I wasn't a doctor, I could have read the pale skin and the red eyes. And since we spend the last days together I knew that those were no side effects of drugs. Let the people believe what they want.

But all that, I left behind in the flat. Just for this one night.  
And if all that was not reason enough.  
As I said earlier, we had spend the last days together. Just the two of us in that tiny flat. After Mrs. Hudson passed the envelope to Sherlock, things had been tough. Those were the days I remember pretty well. I felt lost between loose facts. Every now and then Sherlock asked me to look something up, asked questions, that didn't connect with anything I knew. And then again he fell silent for hours and hours. And I did not dare to leave him. Not until this night. With as little sleep as possible I do lose my temper from time to time. Especially if I have to sit in the dark all the time.

So I rushed towards the first cab on the street and made my way towards a restaurant. Of course I knew very well, that Sherlock was watching me trough the slightly opened curtain.  
He later explained, that he knew everything about my date. Of course he did. It sort of became his hobby to read my e-mails. A few swift steps and he was on his way to follow me. There was no chance, that he would miss what was about to happen. In the end we were both pretty surprised.  
During the cab ride I managed to focus my thoughts onto the date. Laura was her name. A shy woman who visited St. Barts once. In the end she took another job as a private nurse somewhere in London, or so she told me.   
When the last few streetlights flew by before the cab came to a halt, I was even a little bit exited. Not nervous though, since I was expecting a rather quiet evening. One of many evenings, that turned out very differently.   
It started out as a nice date. The chatting was casual but not impersonal. The food and the wine was acceptable and I managed to calm down for a couple of hours. Until I caught something in the corner of my eye. Or rather someone. At that point I had no idea how long Sherlock was watching me already, but I did realize that my date was watching him for a while now. And of course her lovely smile was not meant for me, but for him.  
The anger came back to me in a second and I jumped to my feet almost knocking over the chair.   
"Why don't you go on, and spend the rest of this date with him?"  
I have to admit now, that this can be called an overreaction. But at this very moment it was the right thing to do for me. Driven from blind anger, I made my way out onto the street and into the rain. Cliché, I know, but rain happens a lot in London. I was followed of course by Sherlock and Laura.  
Fortunately I must say, because after a few steps someone hit me really hart on the head. An attack, I suppose. Nobody wanted to tell me afterwards, when I woke up back at 221b.

I stared into Sherlocks concerned face and felt guilt running through my body. But before I could do or say something, two green eyes appeared over his shoulder. I gave a moan and closed my eyes.  
"How could I not notice…?", I mumbled and Sherlock gave a short chuckle.   
Those green eyes belonged to the messenger, who had been here a week ago. And they did belong to Laura as well.  
I can't remember his real name. but I do remember, that it was very difficult to visit BakerStr these days, if you were part of the case. But he had important informations for my friend and a date with me was an easy way to share those news. I might be still angry about this evening, but I have to give credit to this guy. The disguise was quite a good one.

By the time I woke up the two of them had of course exchanged all informations and I was left in the dark once more. At this point I was able to connect the messenger with the disappearance of Mycroft but little did I expect to be entangled in a conflict that big. I can tell you, the following days were no fun to me, nor to anyone else who stood on our side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an early comment on this story is the reason the messenger with the green eyes reappeared.   
> Thanks for that. =)


End file.
